


A Certain Starkness

by ktula



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Brat Kylo, Come Eating, Consensual Humiliation, Consensual degredation, Daddy Hux, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Armitage Hux, Enthusiastic Consent, Foot Fetish, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Masturbation, No Age Play, Phasma novel aesthetic, Pining, Sex Toys, Submissive Kylo Ren, TFA kylux dynamics, accidental catharsis, canon typical descriptions of violence, hux comic spoilers, mindreading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-11-02 06:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20659952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktula/pseuds/ktula
Summary: Kylo inadvertently finds out that he and Hux have a specific post-murder...habit in common. Kylo confronts him about it.It either goes exactly to plan, or it doesn’t go to plan at all. Kylo’s not quite sure which.(This fic takes place immediately after the events of the Hux comic, with thanks to Tom Taylor for setting up a joke that I otherwise could not have made nearly as gracefully.)





	A Certain Starkness

**Author's Note:**

> As always, content warnings for the story are in the endnotes.
> 
> This fic is a love letter to the Hux comic, to the Phasma novel, to classic kylux dynamics, to things that look hard on the surface and are soft and a bit squishy underneath, and above all, to these two idiots who are very perfect for each other in a number of ways, if they would just _let it happen already_.

_“This was an attack against a General of the First Order. I would like permission to deal with him myself. I will be less…messy than Ren.”_

*

Admiral Brooks’ death is…not less messy. The saber cauterizes as it goes, leaving behind the stench of burnt flesh and charred bone—but it’s a clean death, a quick death. Noble. Dignified.

Brooks’ corpse is still sprawled out on the floor where he fell, leaking blood from four wounds that Kylo can see—and he suspects a fifth and sixth that he can’t, based on the separate pools of blood steadily running along the floor. He’s long dead, but nobody has been by to clean up the mess, and Kylo suspects that to be deliberate as well.

He lifts his toes from the floor, lets the blood approaching his boot trickle underneath the sole. It’s starting to congeal, now, slowing on the floor, but still heading steadily for the wall.

Kylo scowls under his mask, shifts back from the blood and stands.

“Get decon in here,” he says to the trooper standing at the entrance. “Clean this all up.”

“What should be done with the corpse, sir?”

“…jettison it.”

*

He meditates.

It doesn’t calm his mind.

He keeps thinking of the fear-rictus Brooks’ corpse was locked in, the grimace ravaging his face, his hands clawed and tense at his sides.

It would have been quick, if Kylo had done it. Five steps to cross the room, a good look at the fear on Brooks’ face, illuminated by the red light of his saber, and then one strike, top of his bald head down past his shoulder. He’d have been cleaved in two, and dead before he hit the floor.

The way Hux had done it, Brooks had been alive. There’d been smears in the blood where he’d scuffed at it with his heels, trying to scramble backwards once he fell. The entire room had reeked of fear and the agony of a long, drawn-out death.

One of the shots had gotten Brooks in the intestines. The room had reeked of that too.

Kylo inhales.

Exhales.

Opens his eyes.

He doesn’t understand why. He could have just done it himself.

There was no reason for Hux to be involved.

*

Hux hasn’t been back on the bridge since the murder.

Phasma’s gun is back in her belt, but Kylo’s not going to ask her about it. There weren’t any other witnesses. He’s already checked the security cameras.

Hux didn’t even book off his bridge shift. He’s just…not there.

*

Hux is in his rooms.

Kylo hovers his hand over the access panel, and then thinks better of it, flattens his palm against the wall instead, presses his consciousness inward—

—withdraws, palms sweat-slick and blood rushing in his ears.

A misinterpretation, certainly.

It’s not like he hasn’t—but—no. He’d thought he was nothing like Hux, thought this tendency was a base, shameful thing, something to flagellate himself over afterwards, but what Hux is doing in his room in the middle of the afternoon is perfectly clear. There’s absolutely no mistaking the thoughts Hux is mindlessly broadcasting from his quarters, there’s absolutely no—and even if Kylo wasn’t getting the gist of most of the thoughts, he can hear Hux’s heart pounding away, can feel the exultation throbbing in his veins, can feel his hard cock in his gloved hand—

Kylo pulls back, face burning under his mask. Stalks down the hall with deliberately heavy footfalls, trying to get the fuck away from Hux and the high-pitched whine he was making as he worked the—thing—further up inside himself and—

_Pfassk_, this is ruining _everything_.

*

Kylo finds himself back outside Hux’s rooms within the hour. His hair is still wet under his mask, his body still damp under his fresh robes. He’d made it halfway through a shower before realizing he couldn’t fucking handle it, not even with his hand between his own legs, because he has questions—he can’t stop thinking about the look on Hux’s face, that pseudo-kindness he’d pretended in front of Bylsma, the viciousness with which he’d executed Brooks, and Kylo feels like he’s trying to assemble something with half the necessary components missing and nothing to fill in the gaps.

He knocks on the door like a fucking idiot instead of just waving the door open, and he’s still standing there, tapping his gloved fingers against his thighs, regretting everything, when the door slides open. Cocks his head, because there’s no one standing there—but he can hear soft music coming from inside, something that he can’t quite place, something that sounds like music that he used to listen to back when he was—

“Ben,” Hux calls from inside. “Stay or go, but don’t stand there.”

Kylo scowls underneath the mask, steps into Hux’s rooms, the door sliding closed behind him. “Not my name,” he mutters.

Hux smiles at him tightly, eyes preternaturally bright. He’s standing next to his in-room conservator, a cabinet stocked with alcohol open behind him. He’s clad only in a black robe, pleated and crisp. His feet are bare. “Well, then, Ren—”

“Kylo.”

“…Kylo.” Hux picks up a second glass, identical to the full one he’s holding in his hand. A chunk of his hair has fallen forward over his forehead, and the edge of his collarbone is just barely visible every time he shifts. The robe is clearly expensive, well-tailored to Hux’s narrow frame. Kylo’s never even considered that Hux might own anything like it. “Drink?”

Mute, Kylo nods his head. He reaches for his helmet and unclasps it, sending it gliding gently off to the side table next to the door with a minute gesture of his fingers. Tugs his gloves off and sends them floating after the helmet, only realizes once he drags his bare fingers back through his damp hair that Hux has been watching him the entire time, leaning against the counter with an odd expression teasing at the corner of his mouth.

“What’ll you have?” he asks, finally. There’s a rasp to his voice, like he’d spent the last hour screaming himself hoarse while he—

“Same as you,” Kylo mutters, then bites down on his own tongue, hard, trying to stave the rest of his thoughts off. That’s not what he’s here for, he’s here for—

(Why can’t he stop looking at the way Hux’s neck curves down into his shoulder, the way his hair hangs loose around his face?)

—clarification that he and Hux share a singular…hobby. That’s it, that’s all.

Hux fills the glass and offers it to Kylo.

Kylo reaches out, but takes the glass from Hux’s hand with the Force rather than risking their bare fingers touching. He still doesn’t know if Hux touched him while he was passed out, if Hux was the one that got him onto the travois or if Bylsma had done that himself. Aches, suddenly, for Hux to touch him.

He takes a quick gulp of his drink, just to cover for the silence—and then winces as the alcohol goes down his throat, burning the entire way down.

“I’d have pegged you as a wine drinker,” Hux says casually, sipping at his own drink and watching Kylo over the edge of his glass.

Kylo makes a face, has another drink. It burns just as badly the second time.

“Or an ascetic.”

“It’s not required,” Kylo manages, the drink making his tongue thick—or maybe that’s just the nerves, the part where he’s in Hux’s rooms with his mask off and nobody even asked him to do it, he just—he just came of his own accord, and he seems to be welcome here. He doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Do you only do things that are required?” Hux’s voice is curious, his eyebrow arched.

Kylo gulps back more of the alcohol, avoids the question. Blurts out the thing that’s been eating at him the entire day, the thing gnawing away at his guts. “I could have taken care of Brooks. I wish you’d have let me.”

“You wish,” Hux says. He drags the words out slowly like they’re ice, melting on his tongue. “Why should you have all the fun?”

“It’s work,” Kylo protests. “I offered to take it from you, you didn’t need to—”

“I didn’t need to what?” Hux snaps, eyes flashing. “You have no idea of my history with Brooks, the facts of our—interactions. Unless you’ve stolen that from me?” He gestures sharply at his own head. “Plucked the details of years of humiliation right from my brain, played them over in your private moments—”

“Hey, I wasn’t looking—”

“—years of humiliation and shame, no matter who could see it, a running joke that I would do anything, because I had no _choice_—”

“—_never_, Hux, I don’t care—”

“—to offer to take that from me, when I could put an end to it myself, exactly as I wish I’d done the very first time he told me to—”

“—_Armitage_—”

“—and you do _not_ get to—”

“I can just leave if you’re going to be an asshole about this,” Kylo snaps, voice raised and echoing. “I didn’t show up to get insulted, I came because…”

Hux goes silent, face red and mouth tight, his knuckles white where he’s clutching his glass, one eyebrow raised. He’s on the verge of kicking Kylo the fuck out, already loudly regretting that he’d even offered Kylo anything to drink. Even though he hasn’t said a word about that yet, his thoughts project easily into the room, as clear as the expression on his face—

“This is your fault anyways,” Kylo says, lowering his voice, overly conscious of the way his naked voice echoes in the room, of how hot he is underneath his clothing. “I stopped by your rooms. Sixteen hundred. You should have been on the bridge. You weren’t. You were. Here. I put my hand on the door. Reached out.” He shuts his mouth, grinds his teeth together, resenting Hux. He shouldn’t have to spell it the fuck out. Hux should just _know_.

Hux’s face is still bright red, his knuckles white, the nails of his free hand digging into his palm. “Spying on me now?” he demands. He takes a step forward, like he can threaten Kylo. Which he can’t.

Kylo feels his heart pounding in his chest anyway, has to lock his knees so he doesn’t just go down right in front of Hux, let Hux do his worst, and he never should have come here, because he expected Hux to be ashamed and embarrassed and awkward and not...not like this. Angry and gorgeous and intimidating, even though he’s only wearing a kriffing _robe_, one so thin that Kylo can see exactly how thin Hux is when he’s not covered in padding. “I was concerned _for_ you—I didn’t know how much experience you had with this kind of thing, with murder, sometimes it—gets to you, gets into your blood, and I just wanted to make sure—everyone is so close-mouthed about your history—you always have people to do it for you, I wanted to be the one that did it for you, I wanted to be the one—”

Hux’s posture relaxes, just infinitesimally, and he actually raises his glass to his already-wet lips, keeps glaring at Kylo as he takes a sip—and so, of course, that’s when Kylo fucks it all up.

“—I just didn’t know we dealt with the aftermath the same way.”

Hux chokes on his drink, turns his face, and coughs into his robe. “We _what_?”

Kylo’s tongue stops working. He stares at Hux for a moment in absolute horror, and then turns on his heel and flees to Hux’s refresher.

*

Being in here doesn’t help, because all Kylo can think as he stares, panicked, at Hux’s toiletries, is how fucking similar they are here too. There’s nothing visible in Hux’s refresher in terms of personal touches except for his hair products, which differ from Kylo’s. Otherwise, this room is the mirror image of Kylo’s own refresher, right down to the neatly hung towel and the gap where the second towel should be, the default brightness of the lights. Kylo leans back against the wall and stares at himself in Hux’s mirror, just the same as he stares at himself in his own.

Hux hasn’t come in here after him. It’s good, probably. Unless it isn’t. Unless Hux just got dressed again, went back out to the bridge, unless Hux has called for security, unless Hux has—

Kylo leans over the sink and washes his face, fixes his hair, dries his hands. Uses the Force to speed the drying of Hux’s towel. Stares at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out what the fuck he wants out of this anyway—and, then, finding that the only answer is _Hux_, he leaves the ‘fresher to face whatever is waiting for him outside.

*

Hux has _not_ put his uniform on again, because his uniform is still hung up in his closet, the door of which is open in his bedroom, easily visible from the door of the ‘fresher. The sheets on Hux’s bed are rumpled, and the missing towel from the bathroom is there, tossed over the bed, and there is…there are…objects lying on top of the towel, the light glinting off slick surfaces, and Kylo shuts his eyes immediately, turns away from the bedroom and stumbles back toward the front room. It’s too late, he’s already seen them. His entire body is hot, his ears burning and his face red, and he knows what Hux is putting up his ass.

Kylo should leave.

(It’s just that he doesn’t want to.)

*

When Kylo comes back into the front room, Hux has fixed himself a new drink and the redness in his face has markedly diminished. He’s sitting on his light blue couch—and that’s a distinct difference from Kylo’s quarters, because he hasn’t got a couch—but if he knew where Hux had requisitioned this one from, Kylo would have done the same. It’s exactly the kind of elegance that perfectly suits the decor here.

Hux looks up as Kylo re-enters the main room. He looks calmer, now. More centered, and it soothes Kylo.

“Well, come sit down,” Hux says. He gestures to the other side of the couch.

Kylo bites his lip, and then sits before he can second-guess. He’s not comfortable, particularly, takes up far too much space, his knee entirely too close to Hux’s—

—and even closer when Hux’s posture relaxes just slightly, his knee falling just a touch closer to Kylo’s, and the black silk of his robe sliding on his skin.

He’s doing his best not to think about Hux’s sex toys, still left out on the bed. But if he doesn’t think about those, he needs to think about what brought him here in the first place, which puts him right back to thinking about the toys—

“How’s your head?” Hux asks.

Kylo’s entire brain disengages, and his cock throbs in his leggings. “My, uh…” He thinks about kneeling on the floor, right here in front of Hux, nuzzling at the silk of his robe and shifting it aside, taking Hux into his mouth and—

“Did you get checked out by medical like I told you to?”

The fucking _concussion_, Hux is referring to the stars-damned concussion. “Fine,” Kylo mutters, turning away and picking at his leggings with his fingers. He wishes he’d brought his fucking drink with him, but it’s still sitting on the floor over by Hux’s wet bar, and if he tugs at it with the Force now, when he’s this scattered, he risks spilling it.

He catches the movement of Hux’s hand in the edge of his vision, and shifts away. Hux stops moving, then scrunches his nose and covers it by taking another sip of his drink. “Well,” he says, “what’s it going to be? Are you going to let me look at your head, or did you want to talk about your coping mechanisms for murder?”

Kylo ducks his head without thinking.

“...alright, then,” Hux murmurs. “Don’t think this gets you out of the discussion.”

Kylo leans forward, lets Hux drag his elegant fingers through the back of Kylo’s hair, seeking out the lump with a touch so light that Kylo doesn’t even wince when he locates it, feels out the edges, and then tugs, lightly, at the hair at the back of Kylo’s neck.

“The swelling has gone down significantly. I was shocked it didn’t split open, it was the size of a porg egg at first.”

“Mmm,” Kylo says, face heating up. It was a stupid injury to begin with. He shouldn’t have blacked out from it, or stayed out that long—but he had been, and Hux had seen him like that, and so much for fucking heroism.

(Hux’s fingers are still in his hair, and it’s distracting, to say the least.)

Kylo can see the curve of Hux’s thighs under his robe, the softness of his stomach, visible under the clinginess of the silk in a way that it never is through the steel-trussing he calls a uniform, and Kylo _wants_. He’s spent years trying really hard not to—unsure whether Snoke would approve at the beginning, and then, quite certain that he wouldn’t—but his subconscious still produces dreams about Hux’s red hair, the sneer on his face, and the full bush of orange pubic hair that Kylo is convinced surrounds Hux’s cock. After a while, there was no point denying it any longer, and wanting Hux just became a normal fact of his life, like everything else he does and is that’s hidden by the layers of his robe and mask. Just a distraction from his purpose. His journey. His—

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Hux asks, still stroking the back of Kylo’s neck.

Kylo tenses, confused. He didn’t know Hux had the capacity to be gentle—but something in his chest is crying out for it anyway, and he forces his body to relax, lean into it. After all, the feelings Hux is projecting are exactly in line with the tone of his voice right now, warm and maybe even a little bit—

Hux presses with his long fingers on the back of Kylo’s neck, and Kylo folds, shifts over until his torso is on the couch, the top of his head pressed against Hux’s thigh and his feet dangling over the armrest on the other side.

“There,” Hux says, quiet and deadly, his fingers tightening in Kylo’s hair to hold him there, and this is more like what Kylo had expected. Craved. Desired. “Now tell me in what ways we are the same, Ren. What did you overhear?”

“Nothing,” Kylo objects, and Hux twists his hand, tugging viciously at Kylo’s hair, pain burning through Kylo’s scalp. “No, it wasn’t—not with my ears, it was the Force, you were—and there’s no point in you denying it anyway, everything’s still out on your bed.”

“Tell me,” Hux continues, low and threatening and not even looking at Kylo, the bastard. “Tell me how you cope.” His fingers are tight in Kylo’s hair, twisting and creating knots Kylo will need to comb out after, and his ear is pressed against Hux’s pale blue couch and he’s so close he can smell Hux’s skin, can feel the hair on the top of his head slipping against the smooth silk as Hux gradually tugs, pulling his hair and forcing Kylo’s head to tilt back. “Your last interrogation was the day we left on that karking mission, and you were late boarding, I want you to—”

“It’s the adrenaline,” Kylo blurts out. His mouth isn’t touching the silk on Hux’s thigh, but oh, he wants it to be. He can hardly think for thoughts of how he’s fucking it all up, he’s going to make a mess of Hux’s robe by touching it wrong when he just wants to make a mess of Hux, wants to haul him up and show Hux what an actual cock will feel like. There’s no way Hux will be satisfied by the thing s lying on his bed the same way he would be by Kylo, even though he’s a size queen based on the size of his damned toys. “I can’t think afterwards unless—”

“There were _two hours_ between the conclusion of your interrogation and the departure of our ship, why did it take three for you to arrive?” Hux twists his hand in Kylo’s hair, shifts his thigh. Kylo is close enough now he can smell the lube on Hux—medical grade, another way that he and Hux are the same and Kylo is nearly hysterical with it, he wants he wants he _wants_—

“You glared at me in the hall,” Kylo says, finally. “I was nearly at my rooms, you glared at me, I—I got myself off twice afterwards, once wasn’t enough, I knew we were going to be on the mission together, I didn’t want to be distracted—you have to believe me, please, I held our fucking ship together when it crashed, _Hux_—”

The pressure on his hair ceases, abruptly, as Hux lets go and then stands up from the couch, leaving Kylo alone. Kylo sighs, rolls onto his back, and turns his head enough to watch Hux pad over to the bar in his bare feet, pour himself another drink. He brings the bottle with him as he returns, stopping to bend down and pick up Kylo’s abandoned glass, his robe falling open enough that Kylo can see right down the vee to Hux’s belly-button. He’s pale under the robe, small. Delicate, maybe. It’s hard to say without getting a closer look, without—

“Up,” Hux says perfunctorily, tapping on Kylo’s shoulder with one of the glasses.

Kylo sighs, starts to sit up—but only gets halfway there before Hux taps him again.

“Back down.”

This time, when Kylo lays his head down, it’s on top of Hux’s thigh instead of on the couch, and it’s all Kylo can do not to jolt in shock. Hux’s thigh is just as soft as it looks, and Kylo wants to turn his head and bury his face in it.

“I assume you can drink this lying down,” Hux continues, and he passes Kylo’s glass over.

Kylo nods, tips the glass to his mouth, using the Force to hold most of the liquid back so it doesn’t splash him in the face.

The sharp liquor helps ground and settle him, warms his throat down to his stomach this time, instead of burning.

“So you were spying on me,” Hux says conversationally.

Kylo takes another sip of his drink, admits his failings to the ceiling. “Yes.”

“And then, when you ran off to my ‘fresher, you spied on me again.”

“Your door was open.”

“You spied on me _again_.”

“…yes.”

“I was going to get off a third time,” Hux says casually. “That’s why everything was still out. You startled me when you showed up.”

Kylo’s entire body goes instantly hot, fingers clenching at the glass so tightly he can feel it crack under his fingers, has to force himself to loosen his grip just enough to not shatter it, but not enough to let go of the drink, let it splash across his clothes. He tilts the glass, the liquid held stationary by the Force, and realizes it’s too late—it’s already cracked, a sharp line cutting diagonally across the glass, not quite reaching the rim. _A third time_ and Kylo must have missed the first, because he hadn’t been quick enough, because he hadn’t immediately caught Hux’s absence, and he wonders if the first time had been while Brooks’ body was still warm. “Were the first two times good?”

“Yes,” Hux says simply. “Very much so.”

“And the third time,” Kylo continues, letting his eyes fall shut so that he can absorb himself entirely in the feeling of Hux’s thigh under his head, the texture of the silk on his hair. He lets his left hand fall to the floor, seeking out the heat of Hux’s bare foot but not quite daring to touch him. Not yet. “Will the third time be good?”

“There’s no point if it isn’t.”

Kylo reaches for Hux’s foot, then, caresses his instep with bare fingers. Hux’s skin is cool under his fingertips. “I can make it good,” he offers.

Hux snorts. “I doubt there’s much you can do to improve it for me, considering that the joy is in eliminating yet another source of degradation from my life.”

Kylo strokes along the top of Hux’s foot, drags his fingertips along the edge of Hux’s toenails. They’re neatly trimmed, filed smooth, and Kylo has the immediate urge to suck them into his mouth, see if Hux likes it. “It might not be degrading if you wanted to do those things,” he offers.

He can _feel_ the shimmer of Hux’s disdain through the Force, can hear him swallow as he takes another drink.

“I should kick you out for that,” Hux says. “Don’t repurpose my humiliation for your sexual gratification.”

Kylo’s hand tightens on Hux’s ankle. He swallows back the last of his drink, squeezes his eyes shut, wishing for his mask. “Did you want to repurpose mine for your own?”

Silence. “Did I want…”

“It wouldn’t be degrading for me,” Kylo offers. “If I wanted to do the things. If I wanted you to—treat me like that. Consider it…catharsis. I mean, I don’t imagine that you had the opportunity to talk it out before you started shooting.”

“There was no point,” Hux says dismissively. “He wouldn’t have understood it anyway.”

“I would,” Kylo says quietly. “I would understand. And it wouldn’t hurt me.”

Hux hums under his breath, considering. “What if I wanted to hurt you?”

“Physically, there’s only so much you can do to me,” Kylo says. “Mentally…my training is what it is.” He rolls onto his stomach, shifting to accommodate his half-hard cock, grasps at Hux’s ankle again with his other hand. “And I saved you, during that mission. Can’t I ask for something?”

“I saved you too,” Hux points out, fingers tapping on his empty glass. His face is a little flushed. “I got what we needed from Bylsma. I could have easily left you there, branded you a traitor to the Republic.”

“But you didn’t,” Kylo says. He tips his head down, presses his lips to Hux’s silk-covered thigh, and then looks up again. “You could have, but you didn’t.”

“You could have let me die in the crash,” Hux says.

“I didn’t.”

Hux’s face goes blank for a moment before he shakes his head, plucks Kylo’s glass from his fingers, and tips it over his own. The liquid inside hesitates, still held back by the Force, until Hux clears his throat and Kylo remembers, lets the drink go, and watches as Hux pours the entirety of Kylo’s drink into his own, gives it a graceful swirl.

Kylo props himself up on his elbow to take his empty glass back, legs dangling awkwardly over the armrest, looks at Hux sitting beside him, the details he hadn’t let himself notice before. Hux’s exposed collarbone on the left side where his robe has slid, the way the silk embraces the slenderness of his arms and cascades smooth down his back but pulls tight over his ass, contrasting the sharpness of his cheekbones and his ankles with the soft curve of his stomach, and the slight bulge of his cock between his legs.

(_That_ hadn’t been visible when Kylo had arrived, but he wishes that it had been. Maybe they would have been in bed already, if it had been. Maybe they could have avoided this part entirely, where everything is a delicate dance that Kylo is quite certain he’ll fuck up, sooner or later—and if he doesn’t have his clothes off by the time he fucks it up, the chances of him getting kicked out are high.

(He doesn’t want to get kicked out.

(He might want to get kicked, if it would make Hux feel better.)

“You’re sure about this,” Hux says neutrally.

He still hasn’t remarked on the cracked glass.

“Yes,” Kylo says.

Hux takes a sip from his over-full glass, sets the glass on his own knee, and lets it go.

There’s no traction on the silk, and the glass slides off immediately. Kylo catches it with the Force, leaning forward to gesture sharply at it. He saves the glass itself—not that it matters, when he’s already cracked the other half of the pair—but doesn’t save the drink, and it splashes noisily to the floor.

Kylo turns his head, stares at Hux.

Hux’s face is completely flat. His nostrils flare once, and then his face calms.

“Well,” he says, after a moment. “Clean it up, then.”

Kylo doesn’t need to look to know how to do it correctly, though the image Hux is projecting is so clear that Kylo immediately regrets having Brooks’ corpse jettisoned, finding that there is a fair amount of violence he would still like to inflict personally upon the man. He hesitates, still, before sliding off the couch—and then shucks his robe and boots, leaving them in a pile on Hux’s floor before kneeling, bare-chested and clad only in leggings, at Hux’s feet.

Hux’s drink-spattered bare feet.

Kylo starts with the floor first, makes his mind go blank as he laves the drink up with his tongue. It’s no worse than anything else he’s done, but he can hear Hux’s breath catch in his throat anyway—as though Kylo would have refused him anything—and it makes a thrill go through Kylo’s spine. The floor is cool and tastes slightly the way the floor polish smells, and Kylo wonders if his droid and Hux’s are on the same schedule, if anything would even change about his life if he just…moved in here, or if he and Hux are so similar that absolutely nothing would change except when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t be alone, he would have—

Hux exhales through his nose, and Kylo can hear the thrum of his heartbeat in the Force, quick and sharp like the pain in Hux’s palm as he digs the nails of his right hand in, keeps his left hand, through great effort, on his knee, where it fidgets with the fine silk of his pleated robe. Kylo’s tempted to cheat it, clean up the rest of the drink with the Force so they can move on to what comes next, but he likes the thought of Hux processing this, like the slow burn of it through Hux’s veins, likes the way it feels to have Hux warring with his own consciousness about whether or not he should find Kylo attractive right now.

(He had no idea Hux even found him attractive at all. If he’d known, he would have fought harder after they’d crashed. He would have slaughtered the beasts from a distance before they’d even gotten near him. He wouldn’t have given Hux any cause to call him by his deadname, would have instead had Hux’s exultation at Ren’s heroics on his lips, would have fucked him in the forest, right there by the corpses of the blue beasts, would have—)

“Mind you don’t miss any,” Hux says, and his voice is tight and strangled. He’s feeling self-conscious about his robe right now, projecting the discomfort so hard that it’s making Kylo himself uncomfortable, but the discomfort comes with Hux’s own visual, his tense hand on his knee and the broad expanse of Kylo’s exposed back beyond it, Hux carefully cataloguing all the moles as he tries not to think about how his hard cock distends the lines of his robe, pressed the pleated silk out of its alignment, and Kylo pants into the floor, fogging it with his breath, because he hadn’t fucking _known_ but he does, now, and Hux is never going to be able to take this back from him.

The taste on his tongue is more floor polish than liquor by the time Kylo is finished, and he feels Hux’s disappointment shimmering like a star about to be extinguished. Hux has forgotten about Brooks, now, is thinking only of Kylo, and Kylo’s flesh, and the way it might feel to have that underneath him, on him, in him—and that’s fine by Kylo, because there’s liquor spattered over the top of Hux’s bare foot, and Kylo isn’t going to make Hux ask twice for it for fear he’ll take the entire thing away.

Hux’s skin tastes like salt, like fine liquor and slightly of the officially sanctioned First Order soap, and Hux’s breath catches and ceases entirely on the first lave of Kylo’s tongue, only to come out all at once in a shuddering exhale when Kylo keeps licking at him.

“Should have known,” Hux manages, but there’s no heat to it, no shame for either of them in what’s being done. “Pervert.”

“Yes,” Kylo breathes. “We are.” He finishes licking up the drink, nudges Hux’s feet together and then sits on them, feeling how bony they are underneath his ass. He skims his hands up Hux’s bare legs, underneath the robe, and then rests them on Hux’s knees, his hands covered by silk.

Looks up at Hux.

Hux’s cock is half-hard, tipping slightly to Kylo’s right, no sense of any wetness or anything at the tip that would ruin the silk. Hux’s face blossoms red anyway, once he realizes that Kylo is looking.

“Well?” he says, ferociously. “See something you like?”

“Yes,” Kylo says, and his voice cracks, ears immediately going hot as Hux laughs at him, and then bends forward, grasps Kylo’s ears and leans over his hair.

“Tell me the kind of degradation you crave,” he says, voice low. “Tell me what you think about after your interrogations, with your cock fisted in your bloody glove and screams echoing in your ears. Tell me every single depraved fantasy you’ve ever had, and let me humiliate you for all of them, let me take you to my bed and jam your fantasies down your throat until you choke on them, let me—”

“You,” Kylo murmurs softly. “It’s you, it’s always been you.”

Hux’s breath catches again, and he sits back up, twisting the lobes of Kylo’s ears before letting go. “Pardon?”

Kylo’s face is crimson. “You heard me.”

“I did,” Hux allows, “but I want you to admit to it again.”

Kylo wants to hold out, but knows there’s no point—Hux will get it out of him one way or the other, and Kylo really was the more vulnerable of the two, after they crashed. He’d expected that the entire truth of it would get out—Hux would be able to spin his own cowardly running away into something flattering, but Kylo would have spent the rest of his life chasing down the rumours of who he _isn’t_ under the mask, the weight of who everyone thinks he should be, and he’d never be able to get out ahead of that—but Hux never said a fucking thing about it, just came back and dealt with Brooks immediately, and kept his mouth shut about Kylo’s ordeal.

Now they’re here, and Kylo is going to do his best to make sure that he never has to leave.

(Their quarters would combine so _nicely_.)

“It’s you,” Kylo says. “The interrogations make me horny, but it’s you I think about when I touch myself.” He swallows, rubs his thumbs over Hux’s bare knees, sharp bone and soft skin, only he doesn’t think Hux would appreciate knowing how soft he feels under Kylo’s calloused thumbs, probably doesn’t want to hear anything from Kylo unless it’s Kylo’s submission, and Kylo is struck by the belated realization that that was what Ben was about, a psychological manipulation to set Kylo’s guard off, make him unsteady, make him submit, when all Hux had to do was _ask_, all he’d had to do was ask the moment that Kylo first saw him, standing on the bridge of the Finalizer all cool precision and sharp cheekbones and an aura of loneliness than he wore like a cloak.

All Hux had to do was ask, and he isn’t asking now—but maybe Kylo can offer up the things that he wants Hux to take, anyways.

Hux swallows, flattens his hands on his thighs.

“Let me be the third time,” Kylo breathes. It’s the longest sustained eye contact he’s ever had with Hux without the barrier of the mask between them, and he still has no name for the colour of Hux’s eyes.

“You haven’t been tested,” Hux says.

“You’ve looked at my medical records.”

“Stars know you haven’t looked at them yourself.”

“I had no reason to.” Kylo blinks, deliberately, a thing that he hopes is seductive, though he doesn’t pluck at Hux’s mind to see what Hux thought of it in case it actually looks stupid. “I saw the toys you have on your bed, you must like it.”

“Oh, yes,” Hux says, bristling and sitting up straight, pulling away from Kylo. “I like to get fucked in the ass, well spotted, Kylo. I hope I don’t need to educate you on anatomy—”

“I like it too,” Kylo says hurriedly. “It’s an anatomical thing, like you said. But it’s not just that. It’s, uh. You have these fantasies of degradation—degrade me. Let me show you my big cock and then make me fuck you with one of your toys, leave my cock untouched, it would be awful for me, I’d hate every minute of it…” His voice trails off, mouth suddenly dry. It’s too much, he’s given away too much of it, he should have kept his mask on so that he could have remembered not to fucking stumble into things, but now he’s—

The corner of Hux’s mouth turns up in a small, tight smile. “You really are a pervert, aren’t you, Kylo.”

“Yes,” Kylo says desperately. “Hux, please—”

“Don’t move,” Hux says. “If you shift, even slightly, I’ll know.”

Kylo nods. He can feel the bones of Hux’s feet underneath his ass. It hurts, a little, sitting on Hux like this—but he’s sitting on Hux, and his hard cock is trapped in his leggings against his right thigh, and he would happily sit here all night. “Yes, General.”

Hux exhales heavily at that, and then reaches his fingers down to the sash of his robe, plucks ineffectually at it. “Undo this for me.”

Kylo reaches out with tendrils of the Force, and carefully, gently, tugs at the knot. He doesn’t usually use the Force for anything that requires finer detail, and the memories of when he did—years ago, a lifetime ago, when people called him by another name—make heat rush into his face, which he tries unsuccessfully to suppress, even while knowing that it’s exactly the reaction from him that Hux wants.

Hux wants to humiliate him. Kylo wants to be humiliated.

If they can both get off in the process, all the better.

The knot comes loose, and Kylo lets the silk rest without tugging it free, the way he wants. The imagery of wrists tied together with that same silk is sudden, burns bright in the front of Kylo’s mind, and it’s only through realizing that the placement of the moles on Kylo’s hands is wrong that Kylo realizes it’s Hux’s image, and not his own.

(That’s fine. They’ll have time for Hux to learn how Kylo’s skin looks. There will be time, if Hux wants it, for Hux to learn everything, leverage it against Kylo like a weapon, and for Kylo to allow himself to be dismembered and then put back together again.)

Hux brings his narrow hands to the collar of his robe, watching Kylo all the while.

“Eyes up,” Hux says softly, and Kylo holds eye contact with him while Hux’s hands skate down, the whisper of the silk as it shifts hardly audible, and still, Kylo looks into his eyes, which are grey and blue but mostly green, glinting with the reflection of the ceiling lights.

It is agony, especially when Hux’s hands shift, and then he sighs. There is a pause, after the sound of the silk moving stops, before another sound comes into play.

The soft whisper of flesh-on-flesh, the uncallused skin of Hux’s palm against the flesh of his cock, and still, Kylo stares into Hux’s eyes.

Hux is touching himself, and Kylo is hard, and watching, and _waiting_, waiting to be told to do something else—to suck Hux’s cock down his throat, to be given leave to bite and rut and squeeze with his hands, press the ghosts of his fingerprints into Hux’s body and leave them there, give Hux something to remember him by so that when Hux touches himself for a fourth time, he’ll think only of Kylo—but Hux doesn’t say anything, and Kylo doesn’t move.

(Hux’s face is so still, during. He watches Kylo with a calculating gaze, and his face is flushed but his mouth is tight, and even as the sound of his movements gets slicker as he progresses, nothing about his face changes. Hux is waiting, and Kylo is waiting in tandem with him, even though patience has never been Kylo’s strong suit.)

“The lockbox under my bed,” Hux says, his voice steady even though his breathing has noticeably picked up. “The silk-cushioned box from—”

Kylo’s consciousness is flinging back into Hux’s room even before Hux has finished his sentence, the last of it echoing in Kylo’s head even though he’s only half-present there, only halfway aware of the front room and the blue couch and the bones of Hux’s feet under his ass. He unlatches the box with the Force, reaches for the item inside it, and—

“What,” Hux says flatly, voice both close to Kylo and also echoing into the bedroom from the sitting room out front.

“Is this going to satisfy you,” Kylo blurts—and then cringes as he hears his voice from both locations at once as well, frowns at how _young_ and inexperienced he sounds when he’s not either of those things.

(Well, maybe the second, but Hux doesn’t have to know that.)

“Why wouldn’t it?” Hux says coldly.

“I’m bigger,” Kylo says, listens to his voice echo.

Fuck, he sounds like an idiot.

Hux chuckles, and Kylo feels him shift underneath Kylo’s hands in the other room. He’s still got most of his consciousness focused on the dildo that’s in the box under Hux’s bed, and there’s nothing wrong with it, not really—it’s black, and utilitarian, with a slight curve. Fine, maybe Kylo’s cock doesn’t have the curve to it, but it’s longer and thicker than this both, and it’s attached to Kylo regardless, and that’s gotta make it better than this. Hux won’t even have to _do_ anything, he’ll just have to _lie_ there, and that’s going to be totally fine, Kylo’s going to make it good for him.

How hard can it be?

“Stars,” Hux is saying, and Kylo doesn’t need to look to be able to visualize the derision on his face. “Size isn’t everything, Kylo.”

“Let me—”

“Absolutely not,” Hux says crisply. “And quit—whatever that is you’re doing, your eyes are rolled right back in your head.”

Kylo frowns, carefully latches the box back together, slides it back under Hux’s bed, and then glares one more time at the toys that are already out on the bed. Uses the Force to flick the filthy sheet overtop of them.

(The used toys are also smaller than he is, and part of him is wondering if this is a good idea, or if Hux is just going to kick him out entirely once he actually gets a look at it.)

He pulls his consciousness back to himself, blinks his eyes and looks back up at Hux from his position on the floor, the bones on Hux’s feet sharp under his ass.

“I’m back,” he says needlessly.

“I can see that,” Hux says. “Explain why you’re being a brat about this.”

Kylo scrunches his nose. “I just think—”

“A toy connoisseur, are you?”

“Well, no, I—”

“Already aware of exactly how I like to be fucked?”

“Hux, I just—”

“What do you think you have to offer me anyway—”

“I said—”

“—outside of a big dick that you assuredly don’t know how to use?”

“…I know how to use it,” Kylo says sullenly.

“I don’t think you do,” Hux counters. “And I won’t be giving you the chance until you get your tests done. And since you’re apparently so _offended_ by—”

“Let me use the Force,” Kylo blurts.

“...you want to use the Force,” Hux says, and Kylo thought his voice would be flat and unwelcoming, but it’s not, it’s not, it’s slightly—warm, even. Maybe a little curious, because his head is tilted ever so slightly to the side, and his eyes aren’t quite as narrow as Kylo expected they were going to be.

“Yeah,” Kylo says. “I know my cock, I can—I can replicate it with the Force, I won’t need to move or anything, you don’t need lube, it won’t destroy your couch, I can—I can fuck you with that, I can replicate my cock exactly, I can—”

“Should have pegged you as a chronic wanker,” Hux says.

Kylo scowls at him. “If you don’t want it, just say so.”

Hux’s face is pink. “Alright,” he says, shifting, his voice calculated and fake-casual. “You can do it. Mind you keep your eyes up here, though—I don’t think I need to tell you that if you disobey me in this, you won’t be getting anything.”

Kylo bites his lip, nods.

“And none of that eyes-rolling-back nonsense, I get nauseous when all I see are the whites. You can do it without?”

“Yes,” Kylo breathes.

Hux shifts underneath Kylo’s hands, adjusts his robe. “Well, on with it, then.”

Kylo nods, takes a deep breath—hesitates. “You’re sure?”

“I’ll kill you personally if you fuck me up,” Hux says flatly—and then he grins, eyes crinkling. “You know I can do it,” he says, and oh, stars, Kylo is going to perish, because of all the things Kylo expected, he didn’t expect a joke about murder, and he feels that much more attached to Hux now, knowing that they can joke about this. Knowing that they can joke about this together.

Kylo nods, swallows hard. His cock is durasteel in his leggings, and he can feel precome pulse into the leather, hopes that Hux isn’t able to—smell it or see it or detect it in any way, because he doesn’t want Hux to know he’s that close—but he is, actually. He is that close. Hux is taking him to pieces, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“And you might as well haul that thing out while you’re at it,” Hux says. “If you’re going to be sticking a magical replica of it up my ass, you might as well take the real thing out so I can see it, and tell whether or not you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.”

“We’ll see.”

Kylo scowls, tightens his hands on Hux’s bare knees, and reaches down with the Force, tugs his erect cock out of his leggings.

Since he’s looking Hux right in the eyes, he sees all the minuscule changes on Hux’s face—the twitch at the corners of his mouth, the flush to his cheeks, the way his pupils dilate, ever so slightly, and Kylo is pleased and aroused all at the same time. Maybe they’re alike in this way as well, maybe Kylo’s cock is just the kind of cock that Hux likes, just lacking that slight curve that all Hux’s toys have, but maybe Kylo can make up for that curve with the Force, or his fingers, or something like that. Anything, really. Anything to make Hux happy.

And then—then!—those slick sounds again as Hux shifts, sits a little more upright, a little further forward—Kylo hopes he can see better that way, but doesn’t brush against Hux’s mind to check—and starts stroking his cock again, right in front of Kylo where Kylo can’t see him, because Kylo is going to be obedient, and he is not going to look until Hux tells him to look.

He hopes Hux tells him to look.

(Hux could have just left him in the forest, could have branded him a traitor while he was unconscious, could have done absolutely anything except the thing that he actually did, which was to make sure Kylo got hauled away, make sure Kylo was safe, and give him the secret hint of his deadname to make sure that Kylo didn’t accidentally let anything slip which would have compromised their position, and maybe it wasn’t about Kylo being off-guard at all, maybe it was about—)

“Well?” Hux asks. “You’d promised me something, and I don’t feel anything.”

Kylo swallows, nods. Constructs the Force-replica of his cock out of thin air, doesn’t bother to give it a physical appearance because it’ll be better for Hux if he doesn’t see it, it’ll be better for Hux if he needs to lean forward to look at Kylo instead.

(It’ll be better for Hux to get the real thing when there’s no way for Hux to realize that Kylo has scaled the replica down ten percent, just because he wants something to hold in his back pocket, metaphorically. Wants the real thing to punch the breath out of Hux’s lungs by the time Hux finally begs him for it, because that’s what Kylo’s seen on the pornography that’s scattered about the First Order network, skinny little twinks absolutely begging for big hard cock, and fucking Hux will be like that but better because even when he’s jerking himself off, Hux still looks so fucking _mean_.)

“Tell me how you do it,” Kylo says breathlessly. “Do you start slow, do you drive it right in there, do you—”

“I’m aware of my own technique,” Hux says haughtily. “I’m interested in yours. Put your hand on your dick, and put your Force-dick up my ass, or you’ll bore me.”

“Right.” Kylo shudders, involuntarily, when he wraps his hand around his hard cock, nudges the Force-projection between Hux’s legs. He does cheat it, just a little—he can’t see where he’s aiming, but he can skim the location of Hux’s hole out of the front of Hux’s mind, because that’s all Hux is thinking about right now—how good it’s going to feel to have Kylo’s cock brush his entrance, and then slowly press up against it, how Hux’s body will yield to him immediately, because he’ll still be open from earlier this afternoon, still be wet with lube and the remnants of the substance he’d shot up inside himself when he came, and that revelation? That revelation is enough to make Kylo’s dick twitch, and the Force-projection falters for a moment while Kylo panics, diverts some of his attention to keeping himself from coming, because he’s rapidly gotten much closer than he wanted, and he doesn’t want Hux to think that he won’t be able to—

“Oh,” Hux says, and his voice is low. “Go on, then.”

The best thing about pressing his Force-cock inside Hux is the way that Hux shudders, just minutely, his eyelashes fluttering just slightly. They’re nearly transparent, but long—longer than Kylo had expected, and he’d first noticed it when Hux had bent over him to check if he was okay, but it’s all he can see now, Hux’s eyelashes glinting almost-but-not-quite gold in the light, and the way Hux’s skin gets just a little more pink as he continues. The long column of Hux’s neck is deeply compelling as he sighs and tips his head back, stares at the ceiling for a moment, and Kylo could look down, now, he could look down and watch Hux’s hand on his dick, he could see what Hux actually looks like with the silk of his robe spread away from his cock—how thick he is, how long, whether he’s right about Hux’s luxurious pubic hair, if circumcision is traditional back on Arkanis or if everything is left intact, because it’s hard to tell from the noise whether Hux is just slick with his own fluids, palm against the bare head of his cock, or if he’s moving the foreskin up and down the shaft, stimulating himself that way—

“You’re exaggerating,” Hux says softly.

“Am not.” Kylo presses the Force-projection in just a little deeper, and then deeper still. He’s got most of it fed up Hux’s ass now, stretching him open, and his own arousal is roaring through his veins at the thought of being able to do this again sometime, after his tests, with his flesh-and-blood cock instead of a scaled-down replica.

“You most definitely—are,” Hux says, and when his voice catches partway through the statement, Kylo has to shove another wave of his own arousal down.

(He’ll touch himself to this, afterwards, the way Hux’s skin has gone red all down his neck into his chest, there’s no way for him not to.)

“Nope,” Kylo says, and he tugs at the Force again, replicates his own balls, and then taps them, gently, against the cheeks of Hux’s ass as he presses the Force-cock forward for the last inch, bottoms out inside Hux. “There you go,” he says, and he lets himself be smug, because there’s no reason not to be—Hux’s breathing has quickened, and his heartbeat is faster, and the sound of him touching his cock between his legs is a little harsher than what it was moments ago. He holds the projection there a moment, skims the front of Hux’s mind—and then starts fucking Hux on it, matching the movements of Hux’s hand on his cock with the movements of the Force-cock up his ass. He can feel Hux’s feet twitch underneath him, the little catch in Hux’s throat as he inhales.

“Keep eye contact,” Hux says breathlessly. “Don’t you dare—”

“Yes, General—”

Hux’s face contorts, eyes twitching shut and mouth opening, just slightly, as he gasps something out that Kylo can’t quite hear and sags back into the couch as his ejaculate hits Kylo in the face, the first spurt catching him right under the chin, the second across his jaw, and the third pattering to the floor in front of Kylo.

It’s torture not to look, it’s torture to keep his eyes exactly where Hux wants them, it’s torture to—

“You may as well go ahead then,” Hux says softly, his breathing still heavier than it had been. “Get yourself off.”

“I want to see you,” Kylo says, fully expecting to be denied—but, instead, Hux just chuckles, and leans forward to rub at the fluid on Kylo’s chin with his wet thumb.

“Go ahead, then,” Hux says, voice raw. “Look your fill.”

Kylo swallows, looks in Hux’s eyes one more time—grey, now, like durasteel, his face still flushed—and then down between Hux’s legs. And, oh, his breath catches.

Hux’s cock is lying on his thigh, softening but still thick, streaked with his own come. The black silk has been shifted away from it, but clearly not soon enough, because there is a dark smear drying to white across one of the pleats. He’s not circumcised, and he’s clearly brushed the foreskin back over the head of his cock, disguising it, which would upset Kylo if he didn’t get to see the pearl of Hux’s ejaculate gathered just at the opening of his foreskin.

“You look disappointed,” Hux says coolly.

“No,” Kylo objects, and he strokes his own cock lightly while he stares, trying to mentally guess whether Hux’s cock had been larger when it was hard, or whether this is about the size and thickness that it usually is, because either of these options are fascinating and Kylo just wishes he’d been able to watch the entire time. “Thought I’d get to see your pubic hair, is all.” Hux is absolutely hairless, and it’s a little disorienting.

“Pervert .” Hux leans forward, brings his hands to Kylo’s ears again, keeping his legs spread wide so that Kylo can keep staring at his cock if he wants to—and, oh, does he want to. “Go on now,” he says. “You know what I asked you to do.”

Kylo grips himself a little tighter, strokes himself a little faster. Thinks about how it would feel to cradle Hux’s balls in his hand—his sack looks tighter than Kylo’s is, and maybe if Kylo cradles them in his palm, he’ll be able to reach back with his fingers and tap at Hux’s hole while he does it, wrap his other hand around Hux’s cock and stroke him off while staring into his eyes, if that’s what really does it for Hux.

“That’s right,” Hux murmurs. “You must be close, looking like that.”

Kylo doesn’t dignify that with a response—but he doesn’t slow down either, because at this point, what does it hurt to prove Hux right? If Hux is going to get off on humiliating him, he’ll be more likely to do it again in the future, and at this point, Kylo is willing to admit that the possibility of repetition is more important than his pride. He can sacrifice his pride on the off-chance that Hux will let him do this again—but the chances seem good, because every time Kylo brushes against Hux’s mind, it’s full of questions, and the temptation Hux is repressing to reach back and feel at his own hole, to see whether Kylo’s Force-cock has stretched him out any or whether that’s an illusion brought on by whatever mind trickery Kylo was doing to make him come that hard, even for a third time—

“Where do you want it?” Kylo gasps out, his other hand shifting from Hux’s knee to the base of his cock, squeezing at the base and tugging on his balls to prevent himself from coming before Hux has even had a moment to answer the question, and maybe Hux will offer his feet, or his robe, or his own flaccid cock, or maybe even his face—

“On the floor, Kylo,” Hux says derisively. “Now.”

Kylo squeezes his eyes shut, shudders, holds it off for just a fraction longer, just enough for him to ask his last question. “Did you think of me? When you came?”

He expects Hux to have to think about it, looks up at Hux’s face expecting to see confusion and thoughtfulness, but instead, he just looks up to see Hux’s eyes widen, ever so slightly.

“Stars, no, why would I have thought of you at all?”

Kylo comes. He ducks his head and shudders, rests his forehead on Hux’s bony knee and comes on the floor between Hux’s ankles, pressing his cock painfully downward so that it hits the floor and nothing else, not the slender bones of Hux’s ankles or the light blue upholstery of his elegant couch. His entire body is shuddering as he twitches through it, his cock producing more come than he’d expected or even wanted, a pool of spend that is so copious it actually starts to run underneath the couch, and at that, Kylo thinks of Brooks’ blood, slowly oozing across the floor toward Kylo’s feet, and feels a second rush of pleasure, his cock spurting out a little more fluid as he exhales and sags into Hux’s bare legs.

Hux’s hand is in his hair, brushing through the strands, feeling out the edges of the lump from Kylo’s concussion. “I will, though,” Hux says softly. “Next time.”

“Pfassk,” Kylo says softly.

Hux pats the top of Kylo’s head, and then uses his leg to shove at Kylo’s shoulder. “Come on, then. Let me up, I need to get circulation back into my feet.”

Kylo shifts onto the floor, has a moment of crisis because his cock is still wet, and he doesn’t know if he should tuck himself back in, even though he’s got nowhere to wipe his hand off, or just take the leggings off entirely, because he has no idea—

“Well?” Hux asks. He’s imperiously belting his robe over his naked body, reaching between his legs unselfconsciously to adjust his sack, and then wiping his wet fingers onto Kylo’s shoulder.

“Well what,” Kylo says sullenly. “Are you going to kick me out?”

Hux smiles at him, then, a tight little thing that actually reaches his eyes, for once, and Kylo doesn’t give a shit how calculated the expression is—because it’s for him. “I’ll make you another drink, if you’re amenable,” he says. “But I want you to do something first.”

“Oh?” Kylo asks.

“Clean up my floor,” Hux says. “And I’d be obliged if you’d strip down the rest of the way to do it.”

Kylo looks over at the puddle of his own coagulating come on the floor, and then back at Hux. “What’s on offer if I do?”

Hux loosens the tie of his robe, lets it fall open again. “Me,” he says simply.

“Alright,” Kylo says.

He takes off his leggings, licks his lips, and bends down.

Sticks out his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** the drink-spilling scene from the comic is both directly and indirectly referenced | Kylo jerks off as a way to process the aftermath of the interrogations he conducts; it’s implied that those interrogations sometimes or often involve murder | Hux accuses Kylo of repurposing Hux’s humiliation for sexual gratification; in fact, it’s Kylo fishing to be humiliated/degraded during sex with Hux | Kylo proposes fucking Hux with a Force-replica of his own cock; Hux agrees to it
> 
> And, there we have it. You let a virgin with a burgeoning foot fetish sit on your feet and jack off, Hux. You're stuck with him now.
> 
> My thanks to Deadsy, who beta'd and copyedited and generally prevented me from making an ass out of myself, as always; Autumn, who helped me bring fuckboy!Kylo out of the woodwork and gave me a ton of guidance re: tags/marketing; and Star, who invented 'accidental catharsis'.
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/heyktula), [dreamwidth](https://ktula.dreamwidth.org/), and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/ktula).


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